


Salt and the Sea

by TheDemonLedger



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Enemies to Friends, Friends to Enemies, Friendship, Gen, How Do I Tag, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Male Friendship, Merle Highchurch & Barry Bluejeans Friendship, Prehistoric, Sad, Sad Ending, Sick Character, Spoilers, Spoilers for Episode: e060-066 The Stolen Century Parts 1-7, The Adventure Zone: Balance Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:40:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22379611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDemonLedger/pseuds/TheDemonLedger
Summary: And he didn’t go back.Not that year, or the next, or the thirty that followed. The team didn’t ask, and Merle never offered. Sometimes Lup could see the hesitation toward the end of the year.Maybe,she’d think.Maybe this year he’ll go back, he’ll ask the right question, and we’ll win.And every year he’d shake off and get the light some other way, or die trying.Merle died a lot.The title of the story is based off the song"Salt and the Sea"by the Lumineers off their album III.
Relationships: Barry Bluejeans/Lup, Merle Highchurch & The Hunger | John
Comments: 6
Kudos: 29





	Salt and the Sea

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! 
> 
> This is my first TAZ fanfiction ever, though I've been in the fandom for a long time. After listening to TAZ:Balance over and over, I figured it was time to finally contribute something to this thing which gave me so much. 
> 
> Just so you know, this is a _total brain dump_ and hasn't been edited or redrafted at all, so if things don't match up (either in the story or to the canon) _I'm so sorry!!_ I just didn't catch it. 
> 
> If you want, you can follow me on [tumblr](https://thedemonledger.tumblr.com) for more fun fandom stuff, including The Hunger Games, Harry Potter, MCU, and The Adventure Zone. I'm on there basically every day, and that's also where I post updates to stories. 
> 
> Please enjoy! xx -Liv

Merle always was stubborn - sometimes to a fault. Every year after Tesseralia, he would reappear in the same position they always did, the same cut on his eyebrow, the same smug look on his face, and tell the team what he and John had talked about. It was never much, never anything substantial; in fact, sometimes it felt as though he was more curious about John than he was about stopping the Hunger. But, of course, that was just his way – how he had always been, always convinced by peoples stories, rather than their mistakes. 

This time though… it was different. When he reappeared he looked defeated, but only for a second, only long enough for Lup to catch him – Lup, who was so observant. She caught his eye and there was a question held there, but Merle swallowed and smiled and waved her away. 

And he didn’t go back.

Not that year, or the next, or the thirty that followed. The team didn’t ask, and Merle never offered. Sometimes Lup could see the hesitation toward the end of the year. _Maybe,_ she’d think. _Maybe this year he’ll go back, he’ll ask the right question, and we’ll win._ And every year he’d shake off and get the light some other way, or die trying. 

Merle died a lot. 

And burying him was never the rote occasion the team made it out to be, to keep him from feeling sad or dutiful or even like a burden. 

The last thing they wanted was to make him feel unwanted. So they tried harder. In remembering their time on the beach, the next time a coast approached, they brought him gifts of the ocean – shining sea glass necklaces, a small wooden carving roughshod from some driftwood, coasters made of dried kelp and sand dollars. If it would cheer him up, they did it. Lucretia painted him things, Taako cooked foods that reminded them of home, Davenport made wild illusions – all just to see him smile. It worked, sometimes; but sometimes, he’d wander off and return just as dower, as deprived of his hope as he had been when he’d been stitched back together in time. And every time the Hunger arrived, he’d be there, watching the sky, waiting for the chance to flee, because with that great black opal spinning above them, his magic was _gone_. 

Maybe it was vengeance, or jealousy, or hatred. But eventually, they realized, as Taako’s spells sputtered out and Lup’s fire burned shallow, that it was just _how it was_ _now_. 

#

They didn’t notice it until late in their journey– not until the Hunger got big enough to eclipse everything, to cut apart the Planes and take the color. It was Cycle Eighty that did it, a few cycles after Merle had stopped visiting John, when they landed on a world in its infancy, still blooming. Giant trees, huge swaths of grasses, mammals the size of wagons, lizards the size of _houses_. And cruel – no humanoids, just them, these seven harbingers. If the light touched down, they didn’t see it; if it was there at all, they couldn’t find it. And Taako could conjure and transmute things and make them food, but the System was too new, the Plane of Magic too raw and changing, and they were cut off. Somehow, some way, their magic – Lup and Barry and Dav and Taako’s – it just _didn’t work._

Except Merle. But how were they supposed to teach him spells which had taken Taako and Lup years to learn and perfect, to make sure he didn’t poison them – to make sure it stayed? 

This was, perhaps, their most difficult year. They tried to forage, but Lup and Barry – so renowned for their ability to tell deadly from edible – were at a loss. The flora here resembled that back home, but hundreds, if not thousands of years older than that which existed when the light had fallen and they’d fled. It was an exhausting, starving, thirsty year. So hungry were they that Lup and Barry had a decision to make: leave the Star Blaster with a buddy to try to find food that wouldn’t kill them, or end their mission for good here in a world where no one would remember them. 

So Lup took Magnus, and Barry took Merle, the only two proficient enough with weapons to protect them, they separated for the first time since the Conservatory. 

Merle wouldn’t know if they survived until he returned, and return seemed far off. He was too busy trying to keep Barry alive. And Barry was so sick. He’d touched a plant, trying to inspect the underside of its leaves, to see if the telltale markers of poison were where they were supposed to be, and had pulled his hand back as if he’d been stung. In no time, his body was covered in hives which he said burned instead of itched, and Merle could only do so much before they’d just _come back_. But through the pain, Barry searched, and searched desperately – it was the least he could do, he couldn’t come back and disappoint Lup by not finding anything. 

Not for the first time in the nearly ten years since their last encounter, Merle thought of John, and he wanted to go back just to escape this prison of a world; he couldn’t. He knew he couldn’t, not after the last time they’d spoken and the sadness he’d seen in John’s typically expressionless face. This was no time for nostalgia, especially not with night approaching and Barry getting worse and the world around them violent and empty. 

Their discovery was inevitable, but well timed. The animals were mostly massive, and the two had done everything in their power to avoid coming across them. One day, about a week after the plant had poisoned Barry and a few hours after Merle had felt his magic run dry, they saw them. A small group of birds, no bigger than the field fowl back in their Plane. Merle didn’t have a bow or any throwing weapons, but he had an axe, and it would have to do. He stepped forward slowly, and as he approached, axe loose, he rolled his shoulder and prayed. 

The blade stuck. Barry nearly whooped, catching himself last second with a cough. The sound was wet, sickly, and the groan that came after wasn’t one to jump for joy at either; Barry was _dying_. And Merle, in all his infinite wisdom, couldn’t save him without rest, or food, or both. He closed his eyes. Gods, he was _so tired_. Everything, every single fucking thing in this world had tried to kill them or eat them or poison them. If Lup and Magnus were still alive, it was a miracle. Between that and the memories of John over and over, the same conversation over and over, he was at a breaking point. 

_“Do you think you could turn back now, if you wanted to?” Merle asked as he moved a discarded chess piece back onto the board. They didn’t have to clean up, but it was habit and it gave them something to do while they talked. Silence fell as John considered his question, broken only by the steady tap-tap-tap of pieces being lined up on the black and white tiles in front of them. John always thought hard about Merles questions – though Taako and Magnus insisted he was just biding his time to ensure his own was sufficient._

_“I’ve never thought about it,” he admitted, setting the finished board aside. “I suppose, perhaps, given the state of me now, I couldn’t, but maybe a few years ago. Hell, I don’t even know how long we’ve been at this, Merle.”_

_They both sighed._

_“I think I’ve got a good one this time,” John said eventually. His tone was excited, but reluctant, as if knowing that the end was coming had him hesitating. Still, the question leapt off his tongue as soon as Merle had half-nodded. “Why do you think the light keeps jumping from reality to reality?”_

_“Oh,” Merle laughed, “you’re asking the wrong guy.”_

_“Merle, come on,” John said, poking him playfully in the arm. “You’re smarter than you give yourself credit for.”_

_“Well, I suppose… maybe it likes the chase. I mean, we don’t know why it got down here in the first place, or how to use it, but it seems to be good at making you want it, and that might be enough. I mean, we’re all pretty sure it’s some sort of tool used by whatever made these places, so maybe it wants to be used? I’m just spitballin’ here, John.” Merle readied himself – it was always uncomfortable, the deaths – but it didn’t come right away. John just sat there, staring at him, with a look of surprised admiration before he jumped, cleared his throat, and stuck out a hand._

_“Until next time,” he said with a smile. Merle nodded, and then he died._

Barry coughed again, wetter this time, drawing Merle from his memory. The fowl he’d axed lay dead a few feet from him, and he collected the corpse. It would take an hour to pluck it, and even though he’d learned prestidigitation, he wasn’t very good at it yet, so it could take a long time to get a fire big enough to cook the thing. They were done for; how would they possibly find enough of these things to feed the whole crew? 

But Barry, poor, sweet, pale Barry, held his hands out and tried to sit up a little straighter; Merle hesitated. The man should rest, should try to recover what little strength he had left, but it was so likely that if he fell asleep he’d never wake up. So, the bird went to Barry, who began to dutifully pluck it, casting the white and grey and brown feathers aside into a pile which shuddered a little every time the wind blew. As Barry did that, Merle looked for kindling, careful not to touch anything green or red or yellow or spiked or – 

_“Hey Merle, welcome back,” John said. He was in the middle of pouring a glass of water for himself, and tipped his head toward the other cup. What he hadn’t noticed was the look of consternation, of apologetic sadness etched across Merles face; when he didn’t get a response, John poured Merle a glass of water anyway and set it across from him, finally looking up. The soft smile he’d carried changed into a look of surprise – these later visits had seemed to bring so many more emotions bubbling to the surface, and every year John seemed to regain a little of his humanity._

_“Hey John,” Merle said, trying to cover up his consternation with a fake smile. “Do you mind if we just chat today? No chess.”_

_“Sure Merle,” John said, sitting down at the table. He moved the chessboard out of the way and leaned forward, almost as if to grip Merle’s hands, but changed course last minute and wrapped both of his own hands around his water glass. “What’s on your mind?”_

_“Oh, uh, nothing. Look, why don’t you ask first this time, John?” Merle tipped his water glass back and forth, the movement of the water centering him as he waited without looking at John. The surprised silence in the room was deafening._

_“Okay, sure,” John said. “This won’t really help me, but I’m so curious, Merle. Why do you keep coming back here?”_

_“I-” Merle paused, unsure whether to be truthful or deceptive. The point – the_ whole _point – of these conversations was to share one fact, one interesting little bit of information or truth or story… But what was Merle learning that could be so useful? And why did John ask the questions that he did? “I don’t know.”_

The fire was started, thanks to a little helpful coaxing from Barry, and the bird was plucked, cleaned and gutted, and was roasting slowly over the flames. The wood seemed fine, no putrid stench or strange texture, just wood. Barry’s face was greying as they waited, his skin still mottled from the hives, red and oozing and, in some places, bloody and torn. But fire only cooked things so fast, and Merle couldn’t wish the bird ready any more than he could use another healing spell that he didn’t have. So they waited, Barry with coughs that sounded deep enough to dig his own grave, Merle on bated breath with memories revolving slowly in his head. 

“Merle,” Barry said hoarsely, “I want you to know how great you’ve been these last couple of weeks. I know it’s been hard on you, trying to keep this ol’ dummy alive, but I… If I don’t make it, I just want you to know you did everything you could.” 

Merle didn’t reply – not right away. The cough Barry let out after he finished speaking were enough to regail to them how desperate the situation was. So he waited, and watched, and when the bird was done and the fire was burning low and Barry’s body was shivering with the cold chills of death, he finally had words. 

“You’re not going to die,” he said. That was all, the only words he had, the only ones he could give. Slowly, he fed Barry some of the bird. It was unseasoned, nothing like the cooking Taako could muster with a handful of grass and roadkill; but it was food, protein, sustaining energy. Barry’s pallor changed from the sickly grey-blue of near retirement to a soft green, and then a light pink. _Food_. It was what they’d needed, and without it, Barry would never heal up right. The magic on this plane was so strange and changing and formidable. 

Merle considered himself lucky to have even been able to save him in the first place. 

_Tense, irritable silence hung between Merle and John, as the latter stared down his opponent. It felt like a war, like they were raging some silent battle. “Seriously,” Merle continued, trying to drown his consternation with laughter. “I’m serious, I don’t know. I think maybe it’s to get information and try to get me and my buddies moving forward but other times I think I just like spendin’ time with ya.”_

_John laughed. The sound was unfamiliar, mirthless, and his smile was empty. The response had gleaned for Merle the exact person he’d met all those cycles ago, and it was someone he didn’t recognize anymore. In the years since their first meeting, John had changed._

_He’d become something more than a planar consuming demi-god that was once human. His smile, his laugh, his wit – it was something Merle had come to cherish, even though each round of conversation ended with his death. But here and now, John laughed, and the laughter didn’t stop even as it grew more contemptuous; but when it did, when he finally cleared the anger and disgust from his face and returned to something more sanguine, human, normal, he saw the horrified look that Merle returned to him, and became bashful._

_“I’m sorry, Merle, it’s just… it’s been,” he stopped and smiled, and instead of hollow, he looked haunted. “Well, let’s just say I’ve never really had friends.”_

As the hours passed and Merle was able to cast another heal over Barry, ridding him of the cough and the welts, and their strength grew from the bird they shared, they developed a plan. Return to the ship with the information they gleaned – the wood was safe, the meat was safe, and if Lup could track what the animals were eating, Barry was pretty sure that those things would be safe too. 

#

It took them three days to return to the ship, tracking the landmarks they’d noted in their journals and the trails they’d left for themselves in scuff marks and scraps of red fabric and pieces of paper stuck through by barbed branches. 

What they returned to was the news that Magnus was dead, and Lup was so sick she could barely move. Their food stores had run out that morning, and although Merle and Barry had caught another two of the small, flightless birds, getting them plucked and prepared in time to save her was another story. Still, Barry rushed to Taako, and Merle to Lup, and that year would only bring one death. 

Merle still struggled to reconcile his existence as the only caster in the group. He wanted to go back to John, to apologize and beg him to reconsider their conversations. 

In the end, all he could do was watch as the Hunger touched down and he was, once again, powerless. 

_“Before I became… this thing, this entity, I was a motivational speaker, educated and proud and so full of all the thoughts that I assumed made humanity great. But I’d never really had friends,” John continued. “Not ever, not one person in my life had considered me more than just… who I was. A young man with a big mouth and a whole lotta words to share.”_

_Neither spoke. They didn’t have to. The room was filled with the ideas that John’s sad statement had brokered. It was many minutes before John shook his head and sighed._

_“I’m sorry for getting so dark there,” John apologized. “What was your question, Merle?”_

_“Oh,” Merle laughed. In the back of his mind he’d been expecting death, a punishment for making John reveal his past without a question to prompt it. “I, uh, was curious since our conversation last time.” The nod John gave Merle was trepidatious, but ready nonetheless. “Let’s say you could go back to what you were – regular people on a regular Plane, right? Would you?”_

_There was a long pause in which John seemed to contemplate what Merle was asking of him, one where the room darkened a little from the constant orange sunset outside the windows, and – for a moment – John looked scared._

_“No.”_

_And Merle died._

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked what you read, bookmarks, kudos, and comments are always appreciated.   
> If you want to see more from me, go ahead and drop a subscribe. I've got more TAZ planned and MCU/THG/HP always chugging along in the background.   
> I love you and I always will <3 xx - Liv


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